


In the Blink of an Eye

by Linaumi



Series: Shelved Works [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Cardverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linaumi/pseuds/Linaumi
Summary: Cardverse Hetalia AU where Gilbert falls in love with Alfred, but Alfred cannot see, hear, nor touch Gilbert because he's dead.
Relationships: America/Prussia (Hetalia)
Series: Shelved Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971898
Kudos: 14





	In the Blink of an Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, the notes I have for this story are handwritten in a notebook somewhere. I'm pretty sure I still have it so if I find it I'll update. For now, from what I remember, the basic plotline of the story was that Gilbert died and became a joker or a God that helps keep the card verse in balance. He eventually falls in love with Alfred, but has no way of interacting with him, so he just watches Alfred as he grows from simple farmboy to king. I'm pretty sure a war happens at some point that probably ends in tragedy (knowing me anyway).

In the Blink of an Eye

What is life like?

It is much like a theater at the open and closing of the curtain. The beginning and end. “All the world’s a stage.” Who said that again? Some geek no doubt; he was right. His life was like an act, but nowhere near as scripted.

**Open. Act III Scene I**

“Gilbert!” the lady exclaimed.

“I’ll tell you, Nora, our boy is nothing but trouble!” the man grabbed his son’s arm as the boy tried to flee. “How dare you pour flour all over your music instructor!” the man scolded, “Now apologize!”

“Lord Beilschmidt, I assure you it’s quite alrig—”

“He called me the devil’s child!” all attention turned to the boy, “He said Mother made a deal with the Devil and passed the sin to me!” the boy was near tears at this point, the tension in the room simply being too much for his small mind. But when he stole a glance at his mother he saw that she also looked ashamed. She sat there, her dainty hands in her lap and her head hung low. The woman was very pretty, despite her sadness. She had rubies for eyes and hair the color of starlight.

“Is what my son says true, Mr. Yorkshire?” Lord Beilschmidt asked. Lord Beilschmidt was vastly different from the rest of his family in the sense of appearance. Instead of dark eyes, his reflected the palest blue imaginable. However this along with his tied back, blond hair gave him a fairly normal look, as if he belonged to a different family all together. His skin was also darker than the rest, but by no means was it because he was outside often; rather, the other two were just pale.

Mr. Yorkshire took a moment to wipe the white powder form his glasses. “It is, sir, my deepest apologies,” he said in that nasally accent. Gilbert wished for the man to just hurry up and return to Clubs.

“I see.” Mr. Beilschmidt released Gilbert’s arm, “Nora, please take Gilbert to his room, I need to have a word with Mr. Yorkshire.”

“Of course.” Nora stood and, without a word, took Gilbert by the hand and led him out of the room. Gilbert was glad to leave the suffocating atmosphere. He eagerly followed his mother down the hall, up the stairs, and—

She stopped.

“Mothe—?” he began to question but was cut short by a sudden embrace. One that left the poor boy breathless when they parted.

“I’m sorry Gilbert,” his mother’s voice trembled as tears trailed down her deathly white cheeks, “I’m so sorry.” She brushed the hair out of Gilbert’s eyes and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. When she tried to pull away the young boy captured her face between the palms of his small hands, an action he’d seen his father do often, and gave her a determined look. The woman couldn’t meet her son’s gaze, but nevertheless she waited for him to speak.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mother,” he assured, “I think you’re beautiful.” He blushed and added as an afterthought, “We both are.” His mother’s emotions burst at her son’s words and Gilbert found himself being equally cradled and cried upon.

“Yes,” the woman sobbed, “And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Strangely, Gilbert never saw Mr. Yorkshire again. He also never let anyone cross him again, not without “punishment”.

_“You’ll be a great man someday, Gilbert.”_

**Open. Act V Scene X**

Gilbert slammed the quill down on the desk.

“I am done! I refuse to do any more of _your_ work!” he declared.

“Your defiance is getting you nowhere, son,” His father stated as he stood beside Gilbert, “Either you finish the paperwork or you will sit in that chair all day.” Gilbert glared distastefully at the papers in front to him. If he was quick, he could bolt out the door then escape through the stables with a horse; the trick was getting out of the office. His father’s study was extremely dull, fitted with only a desk, a small library, and a map of the four kingdoms on the far side wall: nothing that could be used as a distraction. He’d just have to be quicker than his father. If he was lucky, the surprise of him volting over the desk would stun Lord Bielschmidt just enough to buy him a few seconds. Just as he was about to make a run for it a miracle happened.

His father was _yawning_. It was now or never.

Unfortunately, as soon as his arse parted from its seat, he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and force him back down.

“I-I see your reflexes are as good as ever,” he chuckled nervously, wishing his father wouldn’t loom over him with such evil intent. Wish a sigh his father released him.

“Son,” he said with an air of seriousness, “I assure you that I have no qualms in keeping you here through dinner.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I will also eat right in front of you if you don’t finish up.”

“But that’s not fair!” Gilbert whined as his back hit the chair.

“Just how is it not?” his father inquired patiently; after all, one would have to have patience to adequately raise a child like Gilbert.

“Because I know nothing about politics!” Gilbert rested his head in his hands and groaned in frustration, “I don’t get how you expect me to do this!”

“Gilbert.” His father began rubbing his temples in an effort to soothe the oncoming headache he was feeling.

“What?” Gilbert snapped. Lord Beilschmidt shot his son a warning look before striding to the window, unlatching it, and pushing it open. A cool breeze filled the room. It lightly ruffled the papers and cooled Gilbert’s heated cheeks. Oh, how he longed to be outside right at that moment as the familiar sounds of horse drawn carriages and people’s footsteps flooded his ears. But all too soon, his attention was called back to his father.

“Listen to me, you’re still young, but you’ve reached the age that if anything happens to me you will fill in my position as advisor.” Lord Bielschmidt turned towards his son, “And with the war against diamonds being waged, I can’t keep letting you run amuck. It’s time you are taught the responsibilities the Beilschmidt name carries.”

“Quit beating around the bush,” Gilbert blurted out before he could stop himself, “I _know_ this is for pranking Mrs. Parker.”

For a moment, his father looked genuinely taken aback, but with one fluid motion the man strode over to his son and grabbed ahold of the boy’s ear, pulling hard.

“You put dead cockroaches into the soup. Mrs. Parker nearly fainted when she saw it!”

“Ow, ow, ow, I get it so let go old man!” Gilbert growled defiantly as he squirmed in his seat, “She saw them didn’t she? So no harm done!”

“No harm done? What if she _hadn’t_ seen it? What if we had consumed that?”

“Well _I_ wouldn’t have—ow!” Lord Beilschmidt had taken the back of his hand and smacked Gilbert in the back of the head for his insolence; but, hey, Gilbert thought, at least his ear wasn’t in danger of detaching anytime soon.

“I’ll have you know that if you had gotten your way your punishment would have been ten times worse than just signing some papers.”

“If things had gone ‘my way’ I wouldn’t get caught.” Gilbert’s sweat turned cold as he felt his father begin to emit an evil aura once again but looked at him in surprise when it seemed to dissipate.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” His father started, “You always joke around and never seem to take anything seriously—”

“This sure makes me feel great about myself now,” Gilbert muttered, almost to himself. His father gave him another warning glance before continuing.

“To put it simply, we worry about you. Both your mother and I. Though she seems to have a lot more faith in you than I do—”

“You’re so supportive.”

“Will you let me finish?”

“My apologies.”

Lord Bielschmidt cleared his throat before continuing. “But, I can’t help but believe you’ll live beyond family expectations,” Lord Bielschmidt paused, refusing to look at his son, even as the boy looked up to him in awe, “Just, uh, keep at it.”

There were only two times in Gilbert’s life where his father showed him any degree of sincerity. But this moment, when his father’s blue eyes reflected the pale orange of the setting sun, when the breeze moved the otherwise settled objects in the dim room, and when every silent second made pride swell inside him. This moment was the only time Gilbert cared to remember. Suddenly, the door flung open. The papers on the desk flew up and scattered about the room, some even flying out the window.

“My Lord!” Exclaimed a servant with a heavy pant, “It’s the Lady!”

“Has it happened already?” Lord Beilschmidt, surprised, rushed to out of the room with Gilbert right at his heels, “Have you sent for a midwife?” The servant took a moment to recover from surprise and scurried after them.

“Yes, my Lord, she should be here within the hour,” the servant replied.

“Good.” Eventually the three came to a stop in front of the master bedroom. Lord Beilschmidt turned to the two behind him. “Gilbert,” he addressed.”

“Yes?” The young boy stood at attention.

“I don’t want you in the room.”

“What?” Gilbert protested, “Why not?”

“Because, you always manage to stress your mother out.” Lord Bielschmidt explained calmly.

“That’s ridiculous! I do not!” Gilbert folded his arms in defiance.

“I’m afraid you don’t quite grasp the gravity of your own antics.” Lord Bielschmidt’s lips formed a ghost of a smile, “She worries about you much more than I.” Gilbert grumbled something inaudible as a reply which Lord Bielschmidt took as an agreement. “Just stay out here, alright?” He said just before disappearing with the servant into the bedroom.

Hours passed. Gilbert wasn’t sure how long; he only knew that it was well into the night. Gilbert’s feet ached from pacing but he couldn’t help it, not with all the screaming and shouting that was coming from inside the room. Several servants, all of them women, came in and out but their faces were all a blur. He did, however, recognize the midwife which assured him that everything would be well, no matter what he heard. Eventually a period passed where no one entered or exited, then one of the servants emerged, pale faced and carrying a small bundle of towels. She was in such a hurry that she nearly ran into Gilbert when he stepped in front of her.

“How are things? Is my mother alrigth?” He interrogated the poor woman, invading her space. The woman shrunk away, almost as if she’d been struck. Her eyes darted away, unable to sustain the gaze of Gilbert’s ruby eyes.

“I-I’m sorry young master. The midwife said to bathe him immediately,” She stuttered. That’s when Gilbert saw him in the servant’s arms. A baby boy. He was covered in, well, a few things, and he was so small too, it was as if he could fit snugly within a shoe box.

Premature.

But he was breathing, that was comforting.

“So, it’s over?” Gilbert asked, “Then Can I go see my mother?”

“I’m sorry, young master,” the servant croaked, “Lord Beilschmidt said to wait. I really must be going now.” The woman hurried off before Gilbert could stop her.

Fifteen minutes passed and Gilbert heard nothing. No one came in or out; no one even passed in the hall. It was like the estate had been abandoned. Another fifteen minutes passed and Gilbert began to fear the silence. On more than one occasion he was tempted to burst through the door, but a part of him was afraid of what he might see. An hour passed. And then another.

Silence.

Just when Gilbert thought he was about to go mad the doors opened. This time it was his father who was bolting out and, again, he had to step in the way.

“Father, please! Is Mother alright?” he pleaded. As soon as the words left his mouth he found his side made hard contact with the cold, marble wall. In his shock he slipped to the floor. He was too dumbfounded even to notice the pain shooting up his left arm and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth near the area he had been struck; instead, he looked at his father with wide, ruby eyes.

“Those eyes,” his father muttered without so much as a glance taken toward his injured son, “Don’t you ever dare to look at me with those eyes again.” The man then turned his back to Gilbert and fled. Gilbert hobbled back to his feet and found that the door to the master’s bedroom had been left ajar.

He hesitated.

Why? Maybe it was because he was afraid, or because he was confused. Maybe it was to prepare himself for the worst. In the end though, no amount of knowing could have prepared him for what he saw. A ring of grim faces, all blurred like passing strangers, surrounding a pool of blood that soaked into the satin bedding. Like a sanguine flower, the bed began white and pure then darkened into a crimson that streaked until the ground had been touched. Crimson, the same color that tainted his own irises.

Lying upon it all was a beautiful woman whose fair skin had gained a hint of gray and whose eyes were shut, never to be opened again.

The scene was like a funeral.

Without a word, Gilbert sat down on a chair pulled up by the bedside, no doubt the same place his father had been only moments before, and held her hand. It was still warm, whether it was from his Mother’s fading temperature or the heat from the man who held it only moments before, Gilbert could not tell.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears trailing down his white skin, “I should have been here too, while you were still alive.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The baby boy turned out healthy. He was given the name Römisch, though Gilbert wasn’t sure who had given it to him. The child had blond hair and blue eyes, like his father. When Gilbert saw this, he began to cry once more.

“Thank God,” he had whispered while cradling the young boy, “Thank God.”

**Open. Act VIII Scene IV.**

Gilbert leaned his back against the door frame to a dark room. The lights from the hallway illuminated the inside just enough that he could’ve made out outlines of the room’s contents; however, upon request, he didn’t dare look into the room. Instead, he fixed his sanguine eyes in front of him. He kept his arms folded across his chest to hide his discomfort. He didn’t want to be there. Hell, if things were just like before he would grab his horse and run.

But things weren’t like before. Not with Römisch, and not without his mother.

He cleared his throat for attention and received a gruff grunt which he took as permission to speak.

“As I said before, the royals called for a representative from the Beilschmidt family,” his eyes began to water from how intensely they were fixed upon nothing in particular, “I assume you’ll have me go again.”

Silence.

“I would appreciate it, _Father,_ if you were responsive to me today,” Gilbert hissed, his hands tightening into fists, “Or should I get Römisch and we can play this childish game of messenger.”

Another confirmation grunt.

“Thank you. I’ll be leaving then.” Gilbert pushed himself onto his feet and left the man to his sorrows, albeit making sure to leave the door wide open to get some sense of satisfaction from inconveniencing the old man. He walked swiftly so that his black coat billowed at his heels and each step echoed through the halls. No one stopped to speak with Gilbert. Hardly any of the servants could even look him in the eye after his mother’s passing. A part of him couldn’t blame them, Lady Beilschmidt was not only very sociable with the servants but also beloved among the estate’s populace. It didn’t help anyone that Gilbert was practically the ghost of his mother.

The other part of him wished they would all burn in Hell.

Didn’t they realize that Gilbert had suffered much more than they had by bearing the face of the deceased? He couldn’t understand why it was taking everyone so long to move on; what were they waiting for? For him to rip his skin off? Even after the initial mourning passed, they still seemed to avoid him. Despite this, he didn’t truly wish them ill will. It _had_ been years, but, well…

…he still missed his mother too.

“Bruder!” A familiar voice stopped Gilbert just before the footman opened the carriage door for him. He turned to see a five your old Römisch hobbling down the stairs after him. Instantaneously, Gilbert’s grim frown turned into a cheeky grin. He turned back towards the stairs and knelt in front of the little boy dressed in white so that the child was only a few inches taller than he was.

“Good morning little brother!” he greeted cheerfully, “And what are you doing here, alone, so early in the morning?” Römisch fiddled with the hem of his nightshirt. Seeing how nervous the boy was, Gilbert flashed him a comforting smile. Before, the albino never would have thought he’d be in the position of a parent, but with the circumstances being as they were, he had basically taken on the role of mentoring the child. He was quite good at it too. The servants did their parts, but if there was ever a problem, Gilbert was the one who took care of it.

Not Lord Beilschmidt.

“I heard you were leaving,” the little boy muttered without making eye contact.

“And if I am?” Gilbert asked curiously.

“I-is it because Fader treats you badly?” the boy’s voice trembled as he spoke and tears began to pool in his eyes. “Don’t leave Bruder!” the boy begged, tears and snot running down his red, puffed face while he tried to rub it all away with the sleeve of his nightshirt, “I’m sowwy a-about Fader b-but I can make you happy!” As Römisch bawled, Gilbert’s maternal alarm bells went haywire. He frantically combed his mind for a way to calm the boy down enough that he would listen. A treat? No, Römisch wouldn’t hear the offer nor did Gilbert have the time to get up and scavenge the kitchens for one. He could call the nanny, but that would just make Römisch even more upset.

“I won’t be gone lon—”

More hysterical crying.

Well, he tried. Gilbert decided that his best course of action would be to stun the child into silence. Swiftly, he gripped Römisch around the boy’s waist, lifted him up, and spun around like a top. The child drew in a sharp intake of air at the action which caught in his throat. Moments later, he developed a case of the hiccups. Gilbert cradled Römisch fondly, glad to see that the crying had stopped.

Now,” he began, “Just who told you that I was leaving forever?”

“You mean you’re not?” Römisch sniffled and hiccupped at the same time, resulting in a snorting sound that left him flustered. Gilbert laughed and shook his head.

“No, It’s just business. Like last time, remember? With the war hitting a standstill they’ve been calling the nobles in non-stop.” Gilbert sighed, “Politics isn’t my strong suit.”

“So you will be coming back?” Römisch looked up at Gilbert with the biggest, blue eyes the albino had ever seen.

“Of course!” He exclaimed, holding the child in the air and giving him another twirl that had the small blond giggling, “What gave you the idea that I wasn’t?”

“Mrs. Parker.” The boy twirled his fingers nervously, “I overheard her and Mr. Lee talking.”

“And what did they say exactly?” Gilbert put the boy back on his feet and returned to his kneeling position to listen closely to his brother.

“W-Well, tey were talking about Muder, Someting about it ‘being a shame’. I don’t really get it,” His voice trailed off and Gilbert felt a pang in his chest. Römisch noticed his brother’s dark expression and mistook it for impatience so he quickly continued, “B-But den tey started talking about you and she said that Fader treats you so badly dat she wouldn’t be surprised if you left and never came back, and I saw you rushing out so fast, and I didn’t know what to do.” Tears began to spill again. Römisch clutched at Gilbert’s garments, in return the other held him close.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Don’t worry, little brother, I will never leave you behind.”

**Open. Act VIII Scene V**

Gilbert always dreaded doing work at the castle since the day he turned sixteen, the day he was officially able to represent the Beilschmidts. He was eighteen now, and his opinion hasn’t budged. All it ever was was just a group of old men bickering over an elaborate coffee table about taxes or new laws, and with the war, lately all they bickered about was budgets.Not to mention everyone was always talking over each other. It was all pointless to Gilbert; after all, the royals had the final say. So, he only ever spoke when asked for his opinion, that way, at least, he knew he was heard.

But this time was different.

It was the first time the royals had given the nobles any sort of power with the military. A map laid across the mahogany, decorated with small blue and yellow pieces that represented the two warring kingdoms. Gilbert studied it diligently; meanwhile, the other nobles had already taken up fighting over what decision should be made.

“Attack through the forest! They won’t be able to see us coming!”

“Are you mad? All of our military attempts in the forest have been discovered at one point or another. Besides, if we sent the whole army through they’d burn it to the ground along with our main force!” Gilbert opened his mouth to say something but was drowned out by more incessant bickering.

“We could take them head on, right in their weakspot.”

“You think the Queen hasn’t thought of that already? The fact that we haven’t means that it’s obviously been deemed a trap!”

“I—” Gilbert tried to grab _somebody’s_ attention but failed. This charade was beginning to make him irritable.

“We could always withdraw.”

“And lose the only source of fresh water in the vicinity? That’s hardly a victory.” The bickering continued; each voice seemed to ring in a deafening chorus of echoes throughout the wide chamber. Several times Gilbert attempted to speak his mind, but as the youngest of the group, and not to mention he had proven to be the least helpful in the past, not a single soul paid him any mind. They just continued mindlessly arguing. The sounds seemed to conglomerate and it reverberated in his ears, becoming a mess of sound that made his vision see white.

Or was that his rage?

Before he knew what he was doing, Gilbert’s palms slammed down onto the table.

“That is enough!” he roared above all the rest. The room was stunned into silence and he continued. “None of your opinions are getting us closer to winning this war. You all have only helped in pointing out the obvious, and yet every single one of you has failed to consider why these situations are occurring. If you’re not going to listen to me then at least instead of wasting air for the sake of wasting something, _please_ for _once_ say something we don’t already know!” he seethed like a wolf searching for blood and scanned the faces of those around as if challenging them to speak.

“I bet you think you’re tough,” a voice shot out. Gleaming sanguine eyes met with a pair of glowering hazel. Duke Adnan, a pompous bastard. He was always showing off in _some_ way, and it so happens the current situation gave him a perfect excuse to take the spotlight. He was like a child even though he was several years older than Gilbert himself. Under any other circumstance, the two might have been friends, but Gilbert’s very appearance drew attention, something Duke Adnan found as a challenge. The two had been enemies since they met.

“Because I said something?” Gilbert snapped, “If you hadn’t noticed, I just stopped your unhelpful idiocrasy.” Duke Adnan’s lips quirked up into a smug smirk.

“And you’re one to talk.” Gilbert glowered at Duke Adnan as the man ran his mouth the whole way, “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we were sorely disappointed in Lord Beilshmidt’s ‘promising’ oldest son,” the man shrugged, but kept on smiling as if he had just conquered the world, “Who could’ve predicted that he’d be nothing but a useless piece of trash with an attitude. Your mother must be so disappointed.”

“I wouldn’t speak about my mother if I were you,” Gilbert warned in a low tone. If he ended up killing the man at least he could say he had warned the bastard that he was treading carelessly on thin ice; but, the duke didn’t seem to get the memo.

“But then again she might not be; after all, you’re the spitting image of her.”

This was it, Gilbert could feel it this was the day he would become a murderer. The other nobles seemed to feel it as well. Some of the closer ones even stepped away from Gilbert, but besides Duke Adnan, the room was dead silent.

“The poor girl never left the house.” the man continued to as if he had a death wish. “She just lazed around day after day expecting the world to be handed to her.”

Gilbert gripped the edge of the table. _Römisch, think of Römisch,_ he attempted to stray his thoughts from murder. He had a little boy to take care of, he couldn’t afford to get hauled and, oh God, he felt all eyes in the room watching him.

“I honestly don’t understand how Lord Beilschmidt can be so heartbroken over the loss of that woman.”

Gilbert’s blood boiled. The deep breaths he had been taking to cool the burning blood lust had become shallow and erratic. He was losing himself, quickly.

“It’s not like she was worth anything to begin with,” Duke Adnad continued cruelly, unaware of the impending danger, “Both her and her son are worthless. Your only chance is the new kid but by the time he’s old enough to take over for you, the Beilschmidt name will be destroyed. So in the end he’s worthless too.”

Gilbert couldn’t control himself anymore. He was about to pounce across the table like a wild beast and tear that bastard apart when he felt a pair of small and, surprisingly, very strong hands grab his shoulders, pinning him to his seat.

“That’s enough Sadik.” in an instant, the voice chilled Gilbert’s blood, “I won’t stand for you to insult the Beilshmidts any longer. They have been loyal and helpful to the crown for several generations. Now, tell me if I remember this right, it was your traitorous brother that put us in such a disadvantageous situation in the first place, correct?” Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert saw the duke pale significantly. He never thought someone as tan as Duke Adnan could turn such a paper-like shade of white. Under usual circumstances, he would’ve laughed. However this, too, was not a normal situation.

“Y-yes your majesty,” the duke croaked with a terrible stutter. _Just as I thought,_ Gilbert dared to sneak a glance at the owner of the hands that held him captive. The Queen of Spades stared back. With cold, unblinking eyes, she loomed over him like death itself. He felt like a sparrow in the talons of a hawk.

“Gilbert,” Her voice would’ve sounded sweet if it wasn’t so devoid of emotion.

“Y-yes your majesty?” Gilbert stuttered almost just as bad as the duke had. Was the room this silent before? It was as if the fifty or so people whose voices once bounced off the walls had all simultaneously forgotten how to breathe. The Queen gestured to the battle map.

“What would you do? I want to hear your thoughts.”

Gilbert gulped and turned his attention back to the table. “Well,” he began, hyperaware of the fact that all eyes were still on him, “Diamonds obviously has an advantage,” he pointed to the yellow pieces which formed a neat curve, “They have two of our squadrons trapped inside the forest and one just outside; they’ve also managed to trap one of our squadrons against the mountainside, not to mention they’ve cut off the supply lines to our fifth squadron.” He tapped the board just outside the yellow defense line, well, curve. The room stayed silent as he continued.

“Normally, it would make sense to take these three groups.” His finger circled over the three squadrons in and near the forest entrance, “And bring them to the nearest group of diamonds.” His hand glided horizontally to a group of yellow piece.

“But—!” A noble attempted to interject but the queen raised her hand.

“Let him finish.”

Gilbert gave her a thankful not before continuing on with increasing confidence. “But, as you all are aware, all military attempts in the forest have been discovered, which leads me to believe that they have a scouting division watching out movements from inside the forest.” A soft murmur went around the table and Gilbert raised his own hand; again, silence fell. “I know what ou’re all thinking: if there was a scout group we would’ve found them when they received supplies. But what if they aren’t receiving supplies?” he tapped the lower right hand corner of the map where the lake was located, “A river flows into this lake, but the river is run off from the mountain.” His finger traced up to the top right corner of the map, “Follow it and I guarantee you will find their camp somewhere in the mountains. As long as they can find food, they’re set, and, as far as I know, there are plenty of delectable mountain goats.” He paused to look around the table. Many nobles looked hesitant but a few were holding their chins and nodding in agreement. This made Gilbert smirk.

“This would also support the queen’s suspicions.” Gilbert pointed to Daimond’s ‘weak spot’ which happened to be located near the mountains, “If we took our squadron outside of the forest and combined it with the one against the mountain side then attacked, there should be no question of our victory. However, if there are scouting legions in the mountains that we don’t know about, Daimond’s would surely take it to their advantage and set a trap.” He thought for a moment, what he was about to say next would not be with popular opinion. “I propose have the knights do a sweep of the mountainside. If the scouts are there, wipe them out, if not, set a trap of our own. Then we’ll have out two closest squadrons regroup near the mountains. One will go through the forest, though, so Daimonds can’t get an accurate count on our numbers.” He was grinning now. Why was he grinning again? And why did his heart swell when he spoke?

“After we have made all the necessary preparations, we’ll attack diamonds at the weak point they so generously left open for us. Daimond’s will panic at our unexpected numbers and, as a result,” his finger hovered above the yellow pieces, tracing the curve representing enemie soldiers, “Their remaining four squadrons will close in for an attempt to surround our troops. This is where our other two squadrons will come in,” He pointed to the second squadron just inside the forest and the other which had been cut off from supply lines, “We’ll start by attacking the closest enemy,” fingers again glided to one of the previous yellow clusters, “By then the squadron that is cut off will be able to move freely and they will close in from behind, giving us the element of surprise. Once the main battle is over,” He lid his finger back to the mountainous region, “Then they will join this smaller battle as reinforcements.” Like a conductor, Gilbert’s hand fell to his side once he was finished.

It took only a second for the chamber to erupt.

“Do you have any idea how much that would cost?” One old man chastised.

“We can’t risk the knights like that, they defend the castle.” Another murmured.

“Do you want to win the war or not?” Gilbert snapped at both of them.

“Gilbert is right.” The Queen’s voice reigned over the rest. Immediate silence ensued. The queen took a moment to study the map herself, no doubt running over Gilbert’s battle plan in her mind. “I agree with him.” She said at last. It took everything in Gilbert’s power not to grin like a psychopath. _This will show that asshole Duke._ He thought.

“Your help is no longer required. You can all leave.” The Queen dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

“B-but your majesty!”

**“That sounds like him,” Gilbert offered. The girl’s eyes brightened at this.**

“So it really was Lovino!” she beamed, specifically at Antonio, “My name’s Feliciana, Lovino is my brother.” She added proudly.

“Oh, is that so? It’s nice to meet you then, I’m Antonio.” Antonio gave her a polite nod and smiled, but didn’t seem too ecstatic to meet his fleeting interest’s sibling. After all, the male maid that had captured his attention thought him to be hideous. The very thought made his spirits drop even further. Gilbert sighed, giving him an almost concerned side-glance. The girl giggled- rather impolitely Gilbert noted- at Antonio’s actions. 

“Before we introduce each other any further, I should tell you that Lovino is always like that.”

“You mean to tell us he always has a stick up his ass?*” Gilbert looked incredulously at the girl. What kind of life would someone have to live to be that uptight all the time? The girl, Ally or whatever, seemed nice enough so what happened to her brother to make him such a pain in the ass? Gilbert practically smell trouble.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Alice said with a light shrug. As she did so the plates she carried almost slipped out of her grasp. She yipped, leaning forward as if performing a strange balancing act, and smashed the porcelain against her chest until she was able to straighten the pile. She smiled sheepishly at the two and continued, “I should really get back to work, but don’t take anything Lovi said personally, alright? He didn’t get the attention I did while growing up so he has a lot more thorns than I do.” She winked playfully. “I hope to be seeing you around Mr. Antonio sir!” The servant girl laughed as if someone had just cracked a great joke. She saluted Antonio with another beaming smile as a goodbye- which was probably more like an ‘until next time’ farewell, Gilbert thought, after all, this girl was _definitely_ hinting at something- then left, presumably to continue her work. Gilbert could practically read Antonio’s mind when he turned to his albino friend with a suggestive smirk.

“No.” Gilbert said, answer already on hand.

**[Author’s note: Antonio and Gilbert are modelled after Miguel and Tulio]**

“But his sister believes in me.” Antonio whispered hopefully.

“No.” Gilbert repeated firmly.

“And she was so nice, imagine her at family dinners--,”

“Woah! Stop! Right there!” Gilbert stopped him, waiving his hands in front of him to emphasize his desire to _not_ hear whatever Antonio was about to say, “You’re getting way too far ahead of yourself. What makes you think you’re going to marry this kid who, may I remind you, you just met.”

“Of course I’m not going to marry him _now,_ Gilbert, but I would later.”

“No! Didn’t you hear what his sister said about him? The guy’s an asshole.”

“You’re an asshole too, Gilbert.” Antonio kindly reminded.

“Fair enough,” the albino agreed, “But you’re not trying to get laid with _me_ now are you?”

“Look who’s getting ahead of themselves now.” Antonio folded his arms defensively though he maintained a smug look that, admittedly, irritated Gilbert. “Besides, what I heard Feliciana say was that her brother had thorns. That means there’s a flower in there somewhere.”

“Oh so now you’re on first-name basis with some girl which, again, you’ve just met.”

“She was a nice girl with a cute face. Not someone whose name I’d easily forget.”

“Hook up with her then!” Gilbert exclaimed, “At least you wouldn’t have to deal with someone who’s constantly pissed at you.”

“I can’t do that when I’m going to marry her brother.” Antonio retorted. Gilbert groaned in frustration; why couldn’t the idiot see that he was trying to save him from a world full of hurt. Antonio was just too nice for his own good. Hell, even Gilbert had to admit that he was a bad influence on the guy, not that he cared all that much. The point he was trying to make shouldn’t be this hard to get across, it was a classic: nice people and assholes don’t mix. Especially ones from different social classes. There, done! Simple as that. If Antonio learned that there would be no heartbreak involved. Unfortunately, his friend’s skull seemed to be made of something thicker than what Gilbert was capable of penetrating.

“If you do you’ll hate your life within a week, I promise.”

“And if I don’t?” Antonio quirked up his eyebrow in expectation. Damn, looks like it’s turned into a bet. Well, too late to back down now.

“If you don’t then I will personally give you my family’s heirloom sword,” he put his hand on his hip where, normally, his sword would have been. Ah, it seems he forgot it today in his rush. Hopefully he wouldn’t get caught up in a fight; not that he usually would.

But today had already been quite the unusual day.

“That’s alright, Gilbert, you’ve already shown me your sword once,” Antonio’s eyes flashed with eagerness, “If you’ll really give it to me I’ll accept, a thousand times over. It’s a fine sword and having it on the battlefield would be more than a comfort.”

“It better be!” Gilbert’s chest swelled with pride. Huh, that’s weird, why was he so proud of a hunk of metal? It’s not like he’d be using it anytime soon. “It can cut through bone as if it were butter!” he boasted.

“Yes, yes, I know, you’ve told me,” Antonio said with a wave of his hand, “Blessed by Queen Elizabeth of Spades herself centuries ago, right?”

“That’s the one,” Gilbert confirmed.

“Well, with that prize in my sights I’m getting excited,” Antonio grinned, lacing his fingers together and giving them a good stretch as if he were about to set to work, “I better get started then.” He turned his heel and would have made speedy getaway if Gilbert’s reflexes hadn’t improved over the years. A gloved hand shot out and gripped the other’s wrist.

“Not so fast,” Gilbert growled, struggling to pull his dark haired friend back, “You promised you’d help me remember?”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” Antonio muttered as he pulled forward. Gilbert kept a sturdy grip on the other’s wrist and managed to snake his arm under Antonio’s armpit, locking his shoulder between his forearm and bicep.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still going to help me throw dirty water on that duke bastard!” By now Gilbert was succeeding at pulling his friend towards the window sill. Antonio may have a thick skull, but he was a good sport over all. If he could just get his friend to the window, Gilbert would gain a victory.

“I would love to any other time,” Antonio pulled his wrist up in order to get it free of Gilbert’s hand. He succeeded, but it also allowed Gilbert to lock that arm the same way he had captured the other, “But I’ve got other things on my mind right now.”

“You never could focus on a single task,” Gilbert dragged Antonio another step back, “But if I’m doing something stupid so are you.”

“Of course, whatever else are friends for?” Antonio bit out sarcastically. Another step back, Gilbert had nearly won. “When did you get so damn strong?”

“I spar in my free time,” Gilbert answered simply. Another step.

“Well I’m impressed,” If Gilbert hadn’t been facing the back of Antonio’s head he would’ve seen a smirk, “But I have something you don’t.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Military training.” Antonio jerked his head back, hitting Gilbert square in the nose. The albino growled angrily, instinctively covering his nose with one hand and allowing Antonio to slip out of his grip. He took a few steps back. One. Two.

And he found himself falling.

Was that water there before? Then he remembered: hadn’t some water spilled out of Antonio’s bucket earlier?

What a streak of luck, he thought as he fell backwards. He managed to catch himself on the window sill, both elbows impacting on the harsh stone as well as something else. What was that again? Oh yeah.

It was the buckets.

Somehow, both elbows had slipped onto the stone sill in the exact places he and Antonio had set the dirty water and knocked them _both_ off the window. Yes, what luck. This knowledge caused Gilbert to recover twice as fast as he normally would. With the kind of speed a human shouldn’t be able to possess, he turned himself around, leaned (dangerously) far out the window, and snatched the metal pails as they spun in the air.

“Thank God,” he breathed, placing the two objects back in their places with a light tink, “That could’ve killed somebody.” He turned to see Antonio standing right next to him, staring, horrified, out the window. Gilbert followed his gaze.

Below, was a perfectly dry Duke Adnan staring up at Gilbert with an enraged expression and a sopping wet young Prince of Spades.

“Beilschmidt.” The Duke growled. It was a tone more serious than Gilbert had ever come from the Duke’s mouth.

Oh God, what had he done? Two hands grasped his shoulders and his body was turned to face Antonio.

“You have to get out of here. Go home, take your brother, and run.”

“W-wha-?”

“Gilbert, get out of Spades.” The urgency in Antonio’s voice confirmed the fact that Gilbert might not be able to get out of this one alive. ‘ _Defying the royals is like defying the Jokers,’_ a voice rang in his head.

_‘You could be hung for that.’_

Gilbert was out the door before he could even say a proper goodbye to his dear friend, who he was likely never to see again.

**Open. Act VIII scene VI**

For once in his life, Gilbert felt like thanking his father. Not for doing anything of course; his father never did shit for him. But thanks to his father’s inhuman intuition that always kept Gilbert on his toes growing up, the albino learned how to be sneaky. Sneaky enough that he was in the carriage and on his way home before, hopefully, the guards even realized he’d gotten out of the palace.


End file.
